So You've Decided to Be Evil
by Evadne
Summary: Harry Potter discovers there are things far, far more annoying than Death.
1. Lord Voldemort Loses It Totally Like

(Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his friends and enemies do not belong to me. They have Property of J.K. Rowling stamped on their foreheads.

Author's Note: Okay, I'm splitting up Once Upon a Freakin' Time into two stories. This story is sort of an AU to Book 6 and to OUaFT. Dumbledore is not dead, Snape has not killed him, Draco is still trying to kill him. Any chapter that takes place during Harry's capture will be in this story. "Lord Voldemort Builds a Better Mousetrap" will not be here because he hasn't got Harry yet. Everyone clear? All right, let's go!)

**Lord Voldemort Loses It. Totally. Like, More Than Usual.**

There was silence from the room.

Not that a silent room would usually be an odd thing, but this room currently contained Lord Voldemort, the self-proclaimed evilest man who ever eviled EVER, and his arch-nemesis, a teenaged wizard named Harry Potter.

They had been in there eight hours, and it was silent. Naturally, the Death Eaters were a little unnerved. They had brought the struggling boy to their Dark Lord those eight hours ago, and their Master had promptly told them to shut up, go away, and do something useful for a change.

But the Death Eaters had never done anything useful before, so they hung around outside the room where Lord Voldemort had taken Harry Potter, hoping to catch snatches of screams and curses, and whatever other torture related things would go on.

But there was only silence. "This sucks," said Lucius, succinct as always.

Just then, Snape arrived, thus changing the entire dynamic of this fic. "What are you all just moping about for?" he asked. "Don't any of you have families or business or lives or whatnot?"

"Our Lord has finally captured The-Brat-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-In-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's-Presence," said Nott.

Snape silently cursed at this, as he was currently working for the Order of the Phoenix, and was supposed to be preventing situations like this. "Well, that's good, right?" he asked, trying to maintain his cover.

"Nothing's happening!" whined Lucius. "They've been in there for eight hours!"

_Maybe Voldemort fell in_, thought Snape. "Perhaps we should inquire as to our Dark Lord's state?" he asked aloud. "I'll knock, if you like."

Lucius squealed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Snape," he said. "He may make us play 'The Quiet Game' again!"

Snape ignored Lucius, and rapped lightly on the big oak door. "I'm busy!" came a sharp cry from the other side.

"Master?" asked Snape. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine!" called Voldemort from the other side. "Everything's just peachy. Now, go away."

"We're all a little concerned…" continued Snape.

"Oh, for heaven's…just open the door, Snape. Yelling is straining my voice."

"Well," said Snape, trying the door, "it's locked."

"What are you, a Durmstrang first year? Use a spell, Snape."

Snape muttered nasty things about his boss under his breath as he spelled open the door. There, in the room, was Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter…sitting a big table with an illustrated piece of cardboard covered in colorful pieces of plastic between them. Potter was glumly slumped in his seat, fiddling with a pair of dice.

"My Lord," started Snape cautiously, "may I ask what you are doing with Potter?"

"We're using _Risk_ to figure out who will rule the world," explained Voldemort.

Harry attempted to cut in, "I don't want to rule the world."

"If you win," said Voldemort, turning to the boy, "you'll rule the world, and you'll like it!

"But…"

"Trust me. If you don't know how to rule, then I'll lend you some books. It's really not that deep."

"But…"

"Hush! I'm talking to Snape now," Voldemort turned back to Snape. "I figured that since _Risk_ was the game of strategy wherein you conquer the world, it would be a good symbol for our current situation."

"Oh," said Snape, for it seemed appropriate, "and how is that going?"

"Well, we've been going back and forth for the past…how long has it been? Eight hours? Goodness. Anyway, Harry…I mean, Potter…is winning at the moment. He's actually quite good at this dominating the world thing. I feel that, even if I lose, the subjugation of all wizardkind will be in good hands…"

"Oh, heaven help me," whispered Harry.

"…but things could turn around at any time. If I get Eastern Europe, it'll be easier to conquer Russia, which would put the board in my favor."

"Kill me," Harry implored the Death Eaters. "Please."

"Hush, boy! Now, if you all don't mind, I have a world to conquer. Harry, I'm attacking Eastern Europe with two battalions. Here's the die to defend yourself."

Snape and the Death Eaters backed slow from the room and shut the door tightly. "Oooookay," said Snape. "I think he's finally lost it."


	2. Lord Voldemort Is Not Doing This For His

**Lord Voldemort Is Not Doing This for His Own Edification**

"So? What do you think?" asked the Dark Lord Voldemort eagerly.

Harry Potter narrowed his eyes over the top of his book. "Your prose is overly academic and unable to draw in the reader. Your points are unsupported by evidence, and your love of metaphor is bordering on the obsessive. I think you are an evil, aggressive man, and probably stupid as well."

"Excellent," cried Voldemort. "You find faults with minor details and construct _ad hominem_ attacks. You are well on your way to becoming evil."

Harry slammed down the book, So You've Decided to Be Evil by T.M. Riddle. "I am NOT becoming evil."

"Of course you are. What do you think all this casual banter is about? We're creating a bond, and then I'll use that bond to manipulate you."

"We have no bond!" shouted Harry. "YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!"

"What have I said about talking in ALL CAPS, Harry?"

Harry simply growled.

"Young man," lectured Voldemort, picking up his book and dusting off the cover, "I am not doing this for my edification. If you wish to become a strong leader, with a loyal following, you require a proper education."

"Why can't you just kill me like a normal villain?" asked Harry, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Corruption is far more evil than simple destruction. And I've got a benchmark survey coming up. I was only six points behind Sauron last time. Plus or minus three percent."

Harry threw up his hands. "Oh, well. I wouldn't want to hurt your standings in the Evil Association's yearly newsletter poll andohmygod, I sound like Snape."

"I do think you are spending too much time around him," said Voldemort, tapping his fingers lightly on the book. "He's not attempting to arrange a rescue for you, is he?"

"No," replied Harry flatly. "No one is coming to rescue me. Dumbledore thinks this is a good 'outreach' experience. Know thine enemy, and all that."

"Ouch," responded Voldemort, flinching a bit.

"Snape's not too pleased either. He tried to kill me in Potions the other day."

"Potions?" asked Voldemort with a disapproving look.

Harry sighed. "Okay, fine. Dark Potions. I've been meaning to ask you. Why is everything I learn around here "Dark" this and "Dark" that, when they're exactly what I'd be learning at Hogwarts? Dark Potions with Snape. Dark Charms with Bellatrix. Dark Care of Dark Magical Creatures with Macnair. Dark Baking with Lucius. The only thing that doesn't have "Dark" in it is Offense Against the Light Arts."

"Just trying to reinforce a pattern. Now, read!" said Voldemort, handing the book back to Harry. "I'm not training you to sit around and argue with me."

"I hate everything."

"That's the spirit!"


	3. Lord Voldemort Does Not Understand the

**Lord Voldemort Does Not Understand the Black Family**

Narcissa Malfoy was not pleased to be in the Dark Lord's presence. Despite her husband's constant claims that Lord Voldemort was "really a great guy once you got to know him," Narcissa was still not entirely comfortable around the, uh, man who had very nearly sent her son to his death. Still, one did not refuse an invitation to the Master's manor house if one wanted to continue possessing all non-essential limbs. Especially while Bellatrix was preening under his attentions. So, Narcissa clutched her husband's arm, avoided Severus Snape's smirk and tried to pay attention to what the Dark Lord was telling Bellatrix.

"I wanted to run this by you and Narcissa first," Lord Voldemort was saying. "This concerns the two of you most of all."

"My Lord," spoke Narcissa, trying her best to be polite, "I am honored that you have called me into your presence and find my opinion worthy enough to take into consideration." Because she was really there so Voldemort could listen to her opinion. Riiiiight.

"Yes, yes," said Voldemort dismissively, eager to get on to the meat of the matter, "as you all know, I have recently taken on a new apprentice." This was a nice way of saying that he had locked young Harry Potter in a tower and was forcibly teaching him the Black Arts after the unfortunate boy had rolled several sixes in a row during a death match game of _Risk_, thus giving him command of all of East Asia and Europe. "It has come to my attention that he does not have an appropriate name for a future ruler of the world. Both his sur- and forenames are rather…common. I have decided to rectify this by changing his name entirely. Now, there is plenty of evidence to suggest that young men are entirely incapable of choosing intelligent new names for themselves. For example, Mr. Half-Blood Prince here."

"Excuse me?" said Snape. "As if you have any right—"

Voldemort went on as if Snape hadn't said anything. "This is where the two of you come in. If you have no objection, I would like for him to become a Black."

Bellatrix went from pleasure at being consulted to fuming silently at this sudden and unwelcome addition to her family tree. However, she quickly recognized that she really didn't have a say in this at all. Narcissa, on the other hand, looked as if she was seriously considering the matter. "Hmm," she said, "it would secure the Black family name now that the blood-traitor is dead."

"It wouldn't be the first time the Blacks stole a child to keep the direct line going," agreed Lucius, who knew what tact was, but considered it something people should show him and not vice versa. Bellatrix balked internally at the gall of sisters and brothers-in-law, and bit her tongue.

"I figured," said Lord Voldemort, "that since he is Sirius Black's heir, he should become a Black nominally. He's already got the house, the fortune and the attitude. All he needs is the evil."

"And a star name," added Bellatrix, deciding that if this thing had to be done, it might as well be done right.

"What?" asked Lord Voldemort.

"Surely, my Lord, you have noticed that the Black family favors names taken from the glorious firmament arching over all who crawl upon the lowly ground? Except, of course, for Narcissa here for reasons not entirely explicable."

"Uh-huh," said Voldemort. "Well, what do you suggest?"

"Mimosa," said Bellatrix in a tone that suggested a question, but was really more of a statement.

"Look," said Voldemort, "I said you could give him a star name. I didn't say you could give him a stupid name."

"My great-great-great uncle Mimosa Black would be greatly offended by your disparagement of his noble name!" cried Bellatrix, wounded to her very soul.

"Darling," said Narcissa. "Mimosa was our great-great aunt twice removed."

"Oh," said Bellatrix. "Well, that won't do then. Still, she would be offended."

"I'll be sure to add her to the list of people I need to apologize to when Hell freezes over," replied Voldemort.

"Rukbat?" asked Narcissa.

"That's a star?" interjected a doubtful Snape.

"It's in Sagittarius," said Lucius.

"How did you know that?" asked Snape with great surprise and no little defensiveness.

"Just because you got a 'Dreadful' in Astronomy doesn't mean we all did," replied Lucius with a little toss of his hair.

"No," said Voldemort. "I'm not teaching anyone named Rukbat anything."

"Atlas?" suggested Narcissa. "One of the classics."

"Too symbolic of his current status as savior-of-the-wizarding-world," said Voldemort. "No use tempting Fate."

"Merak," said Bellatrix with increasing annoyance at Voldemort's continued dismissal of time-honored Black family forenames.

"Too—" started Voldemort, "Actually, I could live with that one. Merak Black."

"Finally," hissed Bellatrix, sotto voce.

"Utilizes assonance," said Snape, who just had to bring the whole room down now that Voldemort was actually considering a name.

"Won't be the worst thing a wizard's name has ever done," replied Voldemort.

"So what constellation is Merak in, oh great wise astronomer?" said Snape to Lucius.

"The Plough," replied Lucius, who had an expression on his face that indicated that he would be sticking his tongue out at Snape if Voldemort hadn't been in the immediate vicinity.

"Yes," mused Voldemort to himself, "that's a fine name for a conqueror. I'll go draw up the necessary paperwork to make that official. Snape, go get the boy so I can congratulate him on his new noble heritage. And make sure he can't bite anyone."

Bellatrix sighed as Voldemort swept from the room. Snape walked over to her, saying, "Bellatrix, if it is any consolation, I can assure you that the Boy-Formerly-Known-As-Potter is going to thoroughly hate this. That thought alone will get me through many a frustrating imposition."

"I don't really care one way or another," said Bellatrix, who, if she couldn't change anything, was just going to pretend that she was above all this nonsense.

"Well, I care," said Narcissa. "This means I'm going to have to plan a coming-out party."

"Oh, but won't that be fun?" asked Lucius.

"Perhaps," his wife replied, "but what kind of decorations does one get when one's guest of honor will probably be arriving in chains!"

(Author's Note: Also, about Snape's Astronomy grade: I figure everyone has at least one weak subject, including Snape. I decided his would be Astronomy and possibly Ancient Runes.)


	4. Lord Voldemort Insists Everyone Get Alon

**Lord Voldemort Insists Everyone Get Along**

"The Dark Lord says that I have the makings of a first class sycophant," said Draco, meditatively pressing his fingers together in a way that made him look as if he was about to play "Here's the Church, Here's the Steeple." Around the immaculately set table, all eyes were turned to him, drinking in his every word, relishing the brush of glory he brought into their lives. All right, so Zabini was rolling his eyes, but he was just jealous because he'd never been in the presence of Lord Voldemort before.

"My father is currently the Dark Lord's second-in-command. I hope to prove myself to the Dark Lord, so that when the day comes, I may topple my father and take his place." Draco took a moment to savor a vision of his future at the Dark Lord's side. Wealth, women, power unimaginable. And no more inane truffle talk from his father.

"Don't think I shan't be telling your father that," said a casually cruel voice from the shadow of one of the room's many doors.

"My Lord!" cried Draco and his Slytherin brethren, rising quickly from their chairs and dropping to their knees in reverent fear. Draco kept his eyes on the floor and Lord Voldemort's shoes as if he cared for nothing more than to gaze in wonderment at the crud flaking off of the Dark Lord's boots. It took a moment to register with Draco that Lord Voldemort's boots were accompanied by a second set of footwear. A pair of imitation Adidas to be exact.

Draco blinked at this extra set of shoes, and looked up to find himself staring into the disgusted countenance of someone he definitely did not expect to see. Someone he had rather hoped was dead and rotting (or rotting and dead; either was fine) in a dungeon somewhere.

Voldemort had a tight grip on the hair of this very familiar looking companion. He also had an expression that, if vocalized, would have translated into a sing-songy, "Look what I've got!" Luckily, Voldemort was not inclined to talk that way.

Draco's mouth dropped open as he clambered to his feet. He would have liked to have been able to help it, but he simply couldn't. "That's…"

"Yes," interrupted Voldemort. "This is Merak Black."

"Okay," said Draco, "that wasn't what I was going to say at all."

Harry Potter (known to delusional sociopaths and their cowering flunkies as Merak Black) gave Draco a withering glance as he attempted not to fidget too much in Voldemort's (He-Who-Has-No-Concept-Of-Personal-Space) grasp. Draco attempted to return the look, but being directly under the gaze of the Dark Lord stunted his ability to retaliate without getting cursed for his troubles.

Voldemort either ignored or did not notice the scathing looks as he plowed on. "He is my newest apprentice and designated heir. His addition to the Black family has been sponsored by Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, who will be providing the necessary documentation of his childhood and early education."

"My mother?" cried Draco. "What does my mother have to do with it?"

"Your mother agrees that a rule-flaunting troublemaker such as Merak has a natural place in the Black family. He has also turned out to be quite good at the Dark Arts," continued Voldemort with a pleased smirk that made Harry's blood boil.

"Yes," said Draco sullenly, "I'd noticed."

"Anyways, I'm quite glad you are all familiar with each other. But in the interest of etiquette, allow me to make proper introductions. Merak, please give your regards to Misters Malfoy, Zabini, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle and…that young man next to Malfoy who's name I don't recall."

"Hello," said Harry, attempting to squeeze as much contempt as humanly possible into a two-syllable word.

"Wonderful. Now take a seat and socialize with your peers like a good boy." This however, was quite impossible since Voldemort seemed in no hurry to release his death grip on Harry's perpetually messy 'do.

"Are…are you going to let him go, My Lord?" asked a very nervous Theodore Nott.

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "He's just jealous that I have hair and he doesnARRRRGH!"

"Try to remember where your head is, boy," said Voldemort, relaxing his grip in Harry's hair. He turned his gaze to the children of his followers and smiled grimly. "I want you all to have a nice quiet tea. Get to know each other. Talk about Quidditch. Plot to conquer the world. Whatever it is boys your age do these days. I'll be nearby to collect my apprentice when you're done." Voldemort released Harry's hair and shoved him forward, then strode away laughing his high, cruel laugh.

"I can't believe they're keeping you alive, Potter," snarled Draco, the moment he thought Voldemort was out of earshot.

"You probably shouldn't call me that anymore," said Harry flatly, slumping in his seat and taking a steady bead on the ceiling.

"I refuse to call you by any name that implies we're related!"

"I really don't care one way or another," said Harry, steadfastedly refusing to look anywhere but the stucco, "but I've seen enough people offed over my name in the past week. Voldemort (oh, don't flinch, you idiots) has apparently _lost his mind_. Snape told me I used to be called 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-In-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's-Presence,' but I suppose that didn't fit on the name change form."

"Our Master isn't here right now, Potter, so I can call you whatever I like!"

"He's standing in the doorway behind you," said Blaise, taking an affectedly dainty sip of his drink. Draco started and unconsciously tried to look over his shoulder.

"Don't look!" snapped Harry and Blaise simultaneously. Draco stopped himself and swept up his teacup in attempt to convince the unseen Dark Lord that that was what he intended to do all along. "There is an excess of doors in this room," he remarked.

"Kind of drafty too," added Theo.

"Look," said Harry, "everyone shut up. Let's all just sit here in silence and pretend this isn't the most awkward thing that's happened all year."

"You've been the Dark Lord's prisoner for weeks and _this_ is the most awkward thing that's happened to you?" asked a disbelieving Blaise.

Harry took his eyes off the ceiling and leveled them at Blaise. "It's been mostly surreal," he said. "I mean, have you ever been in a room with Draco's father for more than ten minutes? _Bizarre_."

"Don't talk about Draco's father like that!" snapped the young man seated on Draco's right. Harry hadn't paid him much mind until then, other than briefly wondering why Crabbe and/or Goyle the Lessers didn't flank Draco as per usual. The young man looked like a badly made up model of Draco's third year. His hair was obviously bleached blond (little brown roots and all), and was slicked back in a way that guaranteed top marks in the wind tunnel. His nose was turned up at an almost unnatural angle; Harry thought he might spend up to an hour a day in front of the mirror practicing his disdain.

"And who are you?" asked Harry. "His redundantly evil twin?"

"This is Graham Pritchard, my personal assistant," interjected Draco over any response Graham might have made. "He'll be taking notes about this encounter, won't you, Pritchard?"

"Yessir!" cried Graham, pulling a tattered scroll, a quill and some ink out of his robes.

Harry sighed and pointed to the secretarial equipment, "This is why wizards need pens. Though I suppose there's something about magic that makes ball bearings and gravity not work." Harry shrugged in a mock helpless sort of way.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about, Potter-" Blaise coughed. "-Black?"


	5. Lucius Malfoy Is a Punishment

**Lucius Malfoy Is a Punishment**

"You're doing it wrong," said Lucius exasperatedly, yanking the bowl of shell peas out of Harry's hands. "It's like this. Watch." Lucius picked up a peapod. "First you pinch off the ends, like so. Then you pull the strip on the side. See it there? It opens the pod right up. Now you push the peas out, and discard the shell in this other bowl here. We'll make compost out of that." Harry found himself miraculously holding the bowl again. "Now, you try."

With deft, deliberate, almost mocking, motions, Harry quickly shelled a peapod. Lucius nodded in proud satisfaction, as if Harry had managed to disarm a bomb. "Good job. Okay, you shell those peas, and I'll slice these onions."

Harry shrugged and got shelling. He didn't understand what was so horrible about helping Lucius prepare dinner. Snape had acted as if he was sentencing Harry to the cruelest of punishments. But he didn't even have to peel a mountain of potatoes.

"Sorry you have to shell those peas, Merak. Shelling peas is absolute murder on the cuticles. And it leaves thick, green ridges under your fingernails. Before you go to bed tonight, you might want to soak your hands in some warm water mixed with corn starch. I've found that's very a good way of keeping your hands soft after hard use. Of course, you should follow it up with a quality hand lotion, but that's a given."

Harry nodded along, concentrating on shelling the peas, which were, quite frankly, more interesting. Lucius chatted on, unconcerned by Harry's lack of attention. "Draco was terrible at shelling peas, too. Narcissa used to tell me that he did it on purpose so I wouldn't give him peas to shell in the future, but I think that Draco just didn't have a knack for peas. He used to make the best tomato flowers when he was younger, but he grew out of that right before he started to attend Hogwarts. Personally, I wanted him to go to Beauxbatons, which has an excellent culinary program to go along with its magical studies."

Harry began to wish that Lucius would stop talking. He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of words and sentences that didn't even seem to be coalescing into stories. The man went on: "They have an actual auditorium too, did you know that? That's something I missed at Hogwarts. I was in the Choir Club when I was a first year through fifth year. I got too busy after that with my Dark Arts extracurricular activities to continue, but it would have been really nice to have some place to perform other than the front steps. But Hogwarts wasn't really built for anything other than magic. That's why you have to hire a quality tutor to get any working knowledge of the real world."

In an unusual flash of insight, Harry realized why he hadn't been given the task of peeling potatoes. If he had a potato peeler in his hands at this moment, he would probably attempt to put it through Lucius's left eye.

As Lucius's voice continued to wash over him, Harry grew stiff, lethargic, and began having trouble stringing proper thoughts together in his head. It was very much like how he imagined a Dementor's Kiss would be, though rather than his mouth, his soul was being sucked out of him through his ears. Time contracted to the number of seconds it took to de-shell one peapod and start another, and then stopped altogether.

"I think that's enough," said a smug voice from somewhere far above him.

Harry blinked, and looked up to find Snape's hooked nose and greasy hair far too close for comfort. He longed to say something snappy and sarcastic, but found himself unable to engage his mouth. He gaped uncomprehendingly at Snape.

Snape smirked as he grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him out of the kitchen. "That's better. Who's a good little brain-dead automaton now?"


	6. Lord Voldemort Does a Long List of Thing

**Lord Voldemort Discovers He Has Accidentally Bound Himself to Harry Potter, a Ministry Official from the Department of Magical Transportation, a Handful of Muggles, and a Nearly Complete Set of Firestone Tires**

You would think, mused Harry Potter, that a Dark Lord would have better things to do with his time than monitor a teenager doing homework. Obviously, Lord Voldemort did not, for as Harry developed an outline for an essay he needed to write for Snape, Voldemort paced in large, lazy circles around the room. The tall, menacing figure of wizarding nightmares was barely paying attention to his young, unwilling apprentice, however. He was lost in his own thoughts, gently tapping his wand against his chin with every stride he took. It was a common, though dangerous, gesture for him. It was also the reason he lacked a nose. One day, his wand had tragically gone off while he was musing (though Voldemort tried to cover it up by telling everyone that he'd wanted to look more like a snake anyway).

"Do you know what I was thinking?" asked Voldemort, halting his revolution around the room, and turning to face Harry.

Harry didn't even bother to look up. "You were thinking about using Malfoy's money to buy access to the Ministry's Department of Incidental Magic to arrange a series of unusual side effects to common spells, thus causing confusion amongst a significant portion of the population.

There was a long silence as Voldemort stared at Harry, who continued his outline unperturbed. "…Yes, that was what I was thinking. How did you know that?"

Harry put down his quill and sighed. Finally looking up at Voldemort, he said, "I have a permanent connection to your mind because you put a bit of your soul in me. It used to be quite spotty, but since I'm in nearly constant contact with you now, I almost always know what you're thinking."

"How odd," was all Voldemort could respond. He was still trying to process the idea.

"I also know that you were considering the ramifications of adding a Dark Arts research division to the Ministry after you took it over."

"This is quite disconcerting," said a still mostly dazed Voldemort.

"Tell me about it. And then you were thinking about how much you like peach cobbler."

That snapped Voldemort out of his shock. "Nonsense! That must have been you."

"It was not," replied Harry. "I don't even like peaches."

"Well, neither do I!"

"Then whose thought was that?" asked Harry. "You haven't accidentally bonded yourself to another person have you?"

Voldemort sat down on the desk, steepled his long fingers, and did not deign to answer Harry. After several moments of silence, Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Oh for the love of--You have, haven't you?"

"Quiet," said Voldemort. "I'm thinking about it."

During the following five mintues, Harry attempted to work on his outline, but found it impossible due to the large number of Hmmmms, Ahhhhhs and sighs that came from the contemplating Voldemort. Because Snape was Snape, Harry already knew that he would have to do this essay at least twice. If he had to rework his essay even more than usual because of Voldemort's inability to leave him the hell alone, Harry was going to be very pissed off.

"Look-" began Harry, but Voldemort immediately cut him off: "I think I've figured it out. Come along, Potter. We're going to go suss this out."

"But-" started Harry.

"No buts! Time for a field trip!"

Harry's essay was doomed to land of multiple revisions.

"I was not aware," said Harry Potter, "that being evil involved so much lurking in filthy alleys."

"Being evil," lectured Voldemort, pulling the hem of his robe out of a muddy puddle, "involves a great deal of lurking, both literal and metaphorical. When you get to be as important as myself, you usually don't have to do the disgusting grunt work like this. However, as this is my very soul we are talking about, I figured I ought to take care of it personally. Also, it's best not to let your lurking skills get rusty."

Harry rolled his eyes. He and Voldemort were doing the aforementioned lurking in a narrow alley catty-corner to the Ministry of Magic's entrance. Harry had a fleeting sense of déjà vu, but brushed it aside while he tried to figure out why they were here.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, going for the direct approach.

"Quiet," said Voldemort. "Being evil also involves a great deal of silence, especially when staking out your prey. Too much noise and they'll realize where you're hiding, and all your careful planning will come to naught. I recommend you practice keeping your mouth shut, which should benefit everyone."

Voldemort, it should be added, was not too conversant with the concept of irony.

Harry would have once again rolled his eyes, but before he could complete the maneuver, a wizard Apparated into the street in front of them. He jumped and nearly shouted in surprise, but was cut off by Voldemort's frantic gesturing and hissed whisper of: "Shhhhhh! He'll hear you!"

The wizard was nothing out of the ordinary; just a normal guy in normal robes starting a normal day of work that was rudely interrupted when Voldemort leapt out of the alleyway, pointed his wand at the wizard and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!"_

And so, the perfectly average wizard became a perfectly average corpse.

"What the hell was that?!" shouted Harry.

"_That_," answered Voldemort calmly, "was Murray Abingdon from the Department of Magical Transportation. I wanted him to connect me to a fireplace in Hogwarts about a year ago, and he wouldn't, so I killed his wife in front of him. I must have messed something up and embedded a bit of my soul in him somehow. I guessed it was him because I keep having these dreams about test flying magic carpets."

"Why did you have to kill him?!" Harry continued to shout.

"Well, obviously, I can't have some random guy walking around with access to my mind. Sure, he had a piece of my soul, but I've got lots of soul pieces to spare. It's better to have him out of the way permanently. Now stop shouting. We have to keep moving. In case you hadn't noticed, young man, we are currently outside of the Ministry."

Harry stared at him in open-mouthed horror.

Half an hour later, Harry was still trying to process the sudden death of Mr. Murray Abingdon, figure out how to convince Voldemort to stop killing people today, and how to keep Voldemort from killing him for suggesting that maybe he shouldn't just be offing everyone he met.

They were now hanging around outside of a charming country cottage, and Voldemort was trying to decide whether or not to just blow the front door down and kill everyone inside or if he should try to call out the possessors of his soul.

"I don't think they're home," said a relieved Harry.

"Hang on. I'm going to peek in the front window," replied Voldemort. "I can't believe I gave a bit of my soul to a Muggle. To a whole family of Muggles, no less! I think I need to be a little more discriminating about who I kill."

"I really don't think that's the problem," said Harry. "And would you stop looking in their windows like that? This is so incredibly creepy."

"Nosiness is the prerogative of evil," said Voldemort, pressing his lack of nose into the window and cupping his hands around his eyes to see into the house more clearly. "Not that _you_ need any further encouragement in that direction." Harry glared, but got (and expected) no response.

"They're definitely in there," concluded Voldemort, finally pulling back. "I can't see anything, but I can hear them creeping around. I think they're hiding."

"Imagine that," muttered Harry. "Do you have to kill them?"

"Of course! Unless there's some way I can get my soul back."

"Regret will rebind it to you. You could try that. If you could actually regret anything, that is."

"Well, I regret that I accidentally lodged a piece of myself in their entirely worthless bodies. Do you think that counts?"

"I doubt it."

"Then I'll have to kill them. Walking liabilities and all that," finished Voldemort, readying his wand to breach the front door.

"WAIT!" shouted Harry. "Maybe it will work. Why don't we try it first?"

Severus Snape paced the dining room (his makeshift classroom), and glared angrily at his pocket watch. Potter was late _again_. You would think that a boy who was virtually a prisoner in the house would be able to make it to his classes on time, but noooooooooo, not Potter. Potter was too arrogant to give Snape the time of day, even when Snape had the power to take that time of day, transform it into pure potions form, and shove it down that cocky, no-account little bastard's throat.

It was unhealthy how much Snape hated Harry.

Stalking out of the dining room into the foyer of their split level colonial, Snape almost ran straight into Lucius Malfoy. "Hi, Snape!" said Lucius, cheerfully. "Have you seen, um, what's his name?"

"Potter?"

"Yeah. That one. I don't think we're supposed to call him that anymore." Lucius was not too certain of his continuity.

"No, I have not! He has shown no interest in furthering his studies, which only goes to show that I have been right about him all along."

"Oh," said Lucius, who had no idea what Snape may or may not have been right about. "He didn't show up for Dark Baking today, so I wondered if our Lord had carried him off for a field trip again. Like that time they went to the lake or the botanical gardens or the Nuremgard prison to contemplate whatever the hell is worth contemplating there."

"The fleetingness of power," muttered Snape, who had been treated to an amazingly boring debriefing on Voldemort and Potter's return from the prison.

"Right. So, you haven't seen him either? That's a pity. I had a great new recipe for us to try today. Popcorn balls. They're delicious."

Snape was about to answer when the front door burst open, and Harry Potter staggered in carrying a large tire under each arm. Snape and Lucius blinked in surprise, and Harry said, "Don't even ask, I swear."

"What are those for?" asked Lucius, who was not consciously attempting to be contrary. It just came naturally.

"You put them on cars to make them roll," replied Harry crossly.

"Ahhh," said Lucius, nodding. "So, that's how they do it."

"Where have you been?" demanded Snape.

"He's been with me," answered a cold, stern voice, and Lord Voldemort swept into the house, also carrying a tire. Lucius and Snape immediately dropped to their knees and muttered something that sounded like, "My Lord," though it may have been "My cord," or even, "Ply board."

"It's been a productive day, wouldn't you agree, Potter?" asked Voldemort. Harry grunted in response and shuffled sullenly. "Yes, it has," agreed Voldmort. "Shame about that factory showroom. But did you see that salesman run? Ha! You miss things like that when you run the operation from the depths of a dungeon or on a dais in a throne room. I had completely forgotten about that time I killed half a dozen people in tire store! Wish I could remember what I was doing there. Aha! I know. I thought "Firestone" meant _the_ firestone, the mythical rock that turns water into flame. I wondered why they had an entire store for it. Well, I think that takes care of my missing pieces. Oh, hi, Lucius. Good evening, Snape."

Lucius and Snape bowed and scraped, and Harry gave a sigh of relief. It had been a very long, very difficult day.

"You know what I'm thinking now?" asked Voldemort. "I could really go for some apple pie à la mode."

"I can't believe-" started Harry, but he stopped, shocked. "Wait. That does sound good."


End file.
